Tuesday, May 2, 2017

At last I got a lucky break. It
happened I was the first to arrive in the back room that morning. I was alone when
the phone rang. It was Dolores calling her brother, Fat Moe. When I realized it
was her lyric, voice coming over the wire, the unexpectedness of it left me
tingling and speechless for the moment.

Then all the pent−up hunger for
Dolores burst its dam. I asked, I pleaded, I reasoned, I cajoled until she graciously
surrendered and granted me a date for the same afternoon.

“All right, all right,
Noodles,” she laughed at my insistence, “your eagerness bewilders me. All
right, then, today, but I have a matinee, and I won’t be able to make it until
five−thirty. Is that all right?” Then, with a touch of coquetry, she continued,
“Did you see me in my show yet?”

Did I see her dance in the
show? If she only knew how many times I had sat there in the dark orchestra, sick
with longing for her.

“No, but I would like to,” I
lied.

“All right, Noodles, the treat
will be on me. I’ll leave a ticket for you at the box office and meet you at
the stage door twenty minutes after the show. All right?”

“Impatience will be my middle
name until then,” I said.

Her pleasant laugh came over
the phone. “I doubt it, but you have learned to say nice things. Now, please, put
Moe on before I forget what I intended to ask him.”

I called out, “Hey, Moe, your
sister Dolores is on the phone.”

“Who? Dolores? Oh—okay.”

I watched fat, clumsy Moe at
the telephone and compared him to the lithe, dazzling, graceful beauty of Dolores.
They’re as alike as an orchid and a stinkweed. I waited for Moe to finish the
conversation. I couldn’t help overhearing. She wanted to make an appointment
with her brother to visit the graves of their mother and father before she left
town for somewhere. I tried to catch her destination, but I couldn’t. She
wanted to make the appointment for Sunday.

I heard Moe say, “I’m not sure
I can make it. Maxie isn’t here.”

I called out. “It’s okay. You
can take Sunday off.” As an afterthought I added, “And I’ll supply a car and a chauffeur
for the day.”

Moe turned around with a
pleased smile after he hung up.

He said, “Dolores said to thank
you very much for the chauffeur and the car you promised, Noodles.”

I said, “It’s okay.” And as
casually as I could I asked, “Where’s she going, on a trip?”

“Yeh, didn’t you hear? The kid
got herself a Hollywood offer. She got a bit dancing part in a musical picture.”

My heart sank.

I said, “No, I didn’t hear.”

I hurried out to avoid Maxie.
On second thought I went back and left word with Moe, “I’ll be gone for the rest
of the day on some personal business. I’ll call Max and explain later.”

I felt like a schoolboy going
on his first date. I grabbed a cab to my hotel, and began frantic preparations.
I took all my suits out of the closet and laid them on the bed. I picked out a
dark blue with a very thin pencil stripe. It was practically new, conservative
but dressy.

I rummaged hurriedly through my
shirt drawer and picked out the starchiest and whitest one in the lot. I examined
my collection of shoes. None of them suited me. I decided to run over to Fifth
Avenue later to buy a new pair. While I was there I’d get a new smart tie at
Sulka’s. Might as well get a new hat, too. Maybe a derby. A derby? No good; I
dismissed the idea. Not with my face—too red and beefy. I laughed to myself,
beefy? I wasn’t beefy. I looked at myself in the long mirror on the closet
door. There was no beef there, neither in the face nor body. It was all bone
and muscle. I was in tip−top shape. I didn’t need any padding in my shoulders like
some guys. Well, maybe just a little, so the jacket would hang right. I’d
better take the harness off. The roscoe would spoil the fit. Yeh, the shiv I’d
keep. I’d feel naked without it. Not a bad−looking guy, hey, Noodles, old boy?
Almost six feet, well, all right, almost 5’n”. That’s almost six feet in
anybody’s arithmetic.

Damn, after all these years a
date with Dolores. That’s what I needed, a date to shatter this illusion, this phobia.
Jesus, I was beginning to worship her. Why? I didn’t really know her. I had
spoken to her maybe five times in about ten or twelve years.

Boy, she sure had something
that attracted. So she finally condescended to give me a date? Who in the hell did
she think she was? She was only a broad from the East Side, a piece of lay, for
all I knew. I probably had a better one than her hundreds of times. Aw, what
the hell was the matter with me, always thinking and acting like a hoodlum.

There’s only one Dolores: a
sweet kid, pure and clean, from the day she was born. She’s culture—a Hunter College
graduate, beautiful, and, I’d bet, loyal and tender, too. A girl you could
trust. Some woman, my Dolores baby! When she danced in those flimsy veils with
the lights on her and you got a glimpse of her body, just like some goddess—I
don’t know how I controlled myself. Some day I’d crack up just thinking about
her.

I took a cold shower, went
downstairs to the barber shop and had the works: shave, haircut, shampoo, massage
and manicure. I told Angelo to go easy on the hair tonic, I didn’t want to
smell like a pansy. Then, I called up Carey’s for a limousine and chauffeur.
The girl over there asked for my name.

I kidded her and said, “I’m
surprised you don’t recognize my voice. This is Mr. Dupont.”

She apologized.

“I’m a new girl here.”

I gave her the address and
assured her I was engaging the car and chauffeur for the day.

When the chauffeur arrived he
had Mr. Dupont paged. I stepped out. He looked at me out of the corner of his
eye. Then, with his hat off, he explained, “They didn’t have you on the books.
I’m extremely sorry, sir, but my orders are to collect in advance.”

I took out a C note, tore it in
half, and said, “Okay, pal, at the end of the day you get the other half as a
tip. Will that cover everything?”

A smile spread over his face.
He clicked his heels, gave me a snappy salute and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Cut the ‘yes, sir’ crap. With
me it’s horseshit. I’m a boy from the boyus.” He understood the East Side colloquialism.
He laughed and said, “Yeh, you look too regular to be a society guy.”

I smiled as I got in next to
him. “I guess you meant that as a compliment?” I asked.

“Yep, them kind act as if their
shit don’t stink.”

I told him to drive over to
Fifth Avenue. He helped me do the shopping I planned. I bought him a five−buck
tie. We stopped at a Riker’s and had a couple of hamburgers without onions,
coffee and doughnuts. I went into the florist on Fifty−Seventh Street for a
corsage, and got orchids, something special.

We drove to the theater. My
orchestra ticket was waiting for me at the box office. All I could get for Jimmy
was a seat in the rear balcony.

Jimmy said, “It’s okay. I got
good eyesight.”

Dolores’ dance was bewitching.
Her part was over far too soon, and I was too fidgety to watch the rest of the
show, so I walked out to the car, parked outside the stage−door entrance. I
stood leaning nervously against it.

Finally, the show broke. Jimmy
came running out.

“Boy, that was some show,” he
said. “I sure could go for that cute babe in that dance number, the one with the
veils. I sure developed a yen for her. Where to, now?”

He was all out of breath.

I said drily, “We wait here
until that cute babe you developed a yen for hangs up her veils and comes out.”

Jimmy said, “Oh,” sort of
embarrassed. I stood there puffing on a cigar, waiting. When she came walking towards
me, I actually felt confused, yeh, me, Noodles, flustered and nervous.

Her greeting was so different
from my awkward and mawkish one. She had a proud, sure manner, warm and
friendly. She gave me her soft, thrilling hand and smiled her breathless smile.

“How are you, Noodles? I really
am glad to see you after all these years.”

I hadn’t realized she was so
tall. Almost my size in high heels. I was about to open the door, but Jimmy,
his eyes shining his admiration and approval, beat me to it. He closed the door
and in an exaggerated, respectful tone said, “Where to, sir?”

I heard myself saying curtly,
“To Ben Reilly’s Arrowhead Inn, James.” Then, lamely, to make amends, I added,
“Hey, Jim, do you know where it is?”

He turned around with an
understanding smile and snapped a pleasant “Yes, sir.”

“Will we have time to drive all
that distance? Don’t forget I have to be back at the theater by eight or so,” she
said.

“I promise to get you back in
time.”

I took her willing hand and
held it. I gave it a gentle squeeze. She smiled and returned the squeeze. A
thrill seemed to shoot from her fingers to mine and, like a hot, sharp electric
current, through every part of me. I was tingling and breathless. I leaned back
in the far corner of the limousine, and gazed at her. An exquisit perfume
enveloped her, a scent that left me giddy with desire. I took a deep breath and
made believe I was faint. She looked at me, amused.

“Oh, Noodles, come now, surely
I don’t affect you that much?”

I sat there actually overcome
by emotion. How could I assure her she did affect me that deeply?

In the tone of a Delilah she
said, “Oh, Noodles, you are a character.”

She made all the conversation.
Everything and anything she said was fresh, scintillating, delightful. I just sat
dumbly fondling her little hand, watching the movement of her lips, her silky
lashes, her shining green eyes.

I admired her simple, chic,
expensive ensemble, and I told her so. Everything about her was in perfect harmony.

The forty−minute ride seemed
like two minutes.

The maitre d’Hotel of the inn
gave us his personal attention. The sumptuous, ten−course dinner Dolores prompted
me to order was a gourmet’s delight. Dolores ate with the zest of a healthy,
beautiful animal. I was too engrossed in my companion to eat, or maybe it was
the hamburgers that Jimmy and I had eaten at Riker’s. Anyway, I nibbled my food
like a lotus eater.

Dolores patted my hand and
said, “It would be a nice gesture if you asked the chauffeur to have some dinner
with us.”

I called to the headwaiter and told
him to ask Jimmy in to dinner.

He bowed and explained, “He
already has been served in the chauffeur’s room. It is the custom of the Inn.”

Dolores and I laughed as if it
was a terrific joke on both of us.

We went outside for a
fifteen−minute walk in the pleasant, almost countrylike surroundings. She contentedly
smoked a cigarette. An odd impulse overcame me before I took a cigar out of my
pocket. I looked down along the driveway, searching for a discarded cigar butt.
I told Dolores what I was looking for. She laughed and took my hand.

She said, “A far cry from the
old days, isn’t it? I’m so happy for you, honey, but—” she was grave; she shook
her head sadly, “the terrible, awful life you boys lead.”

I kept quiet. She sensed I didn’t
want to discuss my life. She changed the subject. I was secretly thrilled that
she had called me honey. It showed she was interested in me. I was thinking,
for you, darling, I will lead any life you pick out. I’ll retire; I’ll make a
break and quit while the quitting is good. I had over a hundred grand in the
vaults. I’d heap it all at Dolores’s feet and ask her to marry me. Yeh, I’d ask
her on the ride back. I’d go into some kind of legit business out of town, a
small town. I’d buy a house somewhere away from the stink of the city. Dolores
and me, and baby makes three.

I began to hum, “The birds are
singing for me and my gal.”

How the hell does the rest of
it go? I’ll have Cockeye play it at our wedding. That’ll be a new twist. Maxie will
be my best man. Boy, will they be surprised when I break the news. I’m going to
get married to my darling and retire. Yeh, and she’s going to retire, too. No
more dancing for her.

Boy, come to think of it,
according to all the loused−up movie stories of hoodlums breaking away from the
mob, he invariably gets the “business” if he quits. Boy, is that a load of
malarkey. It never happened in real life. What the hell does a mob care if a
member retires as long as the guy really quits and minds his own business? It
leaves more for the guys who remain.

Dolores squeezed my hand as we
walked to the car. “What are you humming and smiling about, honey?”

“I’ll tell you all about it, my
pretty maiden, shortly, very shortly.”

I was floating on air. I helped
her into the car.

“Drive slowly back to the
theater, Jimmy boy,” I sang out gaily.

I tossed him a cigar. He
grinned. This is an okay life. I’ll buy me a limousine, too, and ask Jimmy to
work for me steady, but I won’t treat him like a chauffeur. I’ll treat him like
a pal, like a human being. He’s a pretty nice guy. Yeh, I’m a pretty nice guy,
too. I’m a conceited bastard, too.

I took Dolores’ hand and began,
very sure of myself, “Dolores, honey, this has been the happiest day of my life.
I have never felt so contented with anybody, or as comfortable to be with, as
with you, honey.”

She smiled at me and said,
“Really? I am glad.” She patted my hand.

Her statement that she was
“glad” and her smile made me take things for granted.

Bluntly I began, “Dolores,
honey, I love you. I want to marry you.”

Self−consciously I put my arm
around her and attempted to kiss her. She gasped her surprise and moved away.

In an astounded tone she said,
“We hardly know each other. Besides—”

I cut her off. “We’ll become
better acquainted after we’re married—”

Soberly she interrupted, “I
should have had a talk with you a long time ago. I guess now is as good a time as
any. I was just about to say, I’m practically engaged to be married. Besides, I’m
going to Hollywood. I have a picture contract. I hope to remain there.”

Shocked, I said, “What? When
are you leaving?”

“Sunday evening.”

I felt myself sinking. What was
the matter with me? Was I that obnoxious to her? What had happened to spoil the
perfect mood we were in? She isn’t the same warm Dolores of a moment ago. She’s
sitting there cool, out of my reach. Why? She seemed to reciprocate my feelings
a moment ago. I was sure of it. Now this sort of talk. I couldn’t understand
it. What was she, just a tease?

“Noodles, in the first place, I
really never knew you, really I didn’t. I didn’t know you were such—such a nice
boy.”

“Boy?” I questioned weakly.

“Well, then, such a nice
gentleman. You like that better?” She smiled politely.

“Why, what sort did you think I was?”

“Well, I won’t go into that,
but to be frank, I imagined that you had grown up entirely different.”

“Why did you? You never gave me
a chance all these years to get acquainted.”

“After all, let’s be practical.
I remembered you as—” She laughed, then she caught my eye. “Oh forgive me,
Noodles, I wasn’t laughing at you. But you were,” she sighed. “Well, I remember
you as—” she hesitated, “pretty vicious.”

I goaded her. “Go ahead and say
it, a filthy, stinking East Side bum.”

“Oh no.” Her hand flew up in a
gesture of hurt denial. “Believe me, Noodles, I meant nothing of the kind. I come
from the same background as you do. I never meant to imply anything of the
sort, only, somehow, I was always afraid of you.”

“You were afraid, all right.
Then were there other reasons why you ignored me all these years?”

“Well, my attitude was silly,
come to think of it. I should have acted more sensibly and answered your notes
and calls. First, I didn’t want any outside interests interfering with my
dancing. I’m very ambitious. I love dancing, and it took up all my time, and
besides,” she said it quickly without emotion, “I have loved somebody for a
good many years. A peaceful, conservative businessman whom some day I intend to
marry. That’s why I went out with you today, to explain to you not to try and
see me any more or to send me flowers—or things.”

I didn’t say a word. I kept
looking the other way. Her words were digging into my heart. I was shocked, and
my vanity was hurt. I looked out the window. Slowly I turned toward her. She
moved away and kept gazing out the window. Then she turned. Our eyes met. Her
hand crept into mine. She squeezed my hand.

“You know, Noodles, you’re a
very presentable chap.” Her eyes were full of compassion. “I really like you.”

“Yeh, you like me, but you won’t
have anything to do with me,” I muttered.

“Well—there are so many other
attractive girls—”

Girls?
Don’t I know there are girls? What the hell is she telling me? Something I don’t
know about? Me, Noodles? I’ve had all of them, the ones Winchell calls
Debutramps, who hang out in those Park Avenue “speaks” to Broadway tramps. If I
could lay out in single file all the broads I had, they would reach from the Bronx
to the Battery. What the hell is she handing me? Yeh, she’s only teasing me.
There’s nobody else for me. I got to have her. She’s in my blood. She’s deep
inside of me. If I don’t have her at least once, I’ll go nuts, I’ll crack up. A
crazy thought struck me. Maybe, if I lay her, it will break the enchantment,
this hold she has on me. I’ll give it to her now. It will force her to marry
me. Yeh, I’ll use her. Then, so help me Jesus, I’ll forget her. That’s the way
it works with me, lay them and forget them. The thought aroused a sharp,
ungovernable excitement in me.

I sprang at her. I grabbed
her in my arms and squeezed her hard, as if I could press the beauty and love
out of her body into the aching, hungry void in mine.

She was crying, “Stop,
Noodles, please, stop.” She was white with fear. She cried, “You’re hurting
me.”

I showered her with my wet,
hot kisses. I bit her lips till they bled. She was like a helpless bird in my grasp.
With my knee I forced her legs wide apart. A glimpse of her black lace panties
against her pink beautiful thighs stirred me to a frenzied pitch.

I pulled her dress down from
her white shoulders. I broke the straps from her brassiere, exposing her two round
firm breasts. I buried my face in them.

She screamed out. “Please,
don’t! Stop it, please, stop it!”

The car came to an abrupt
stop, throwing us both to the floor. The door opened. Jimmy stood there looking
agitated.

He demanded, “For Christ
sake, let up. You want to kill the girl? You want to get us arrested?”

Dolores lay crumpled and
unconscious in a corner. In a daze I watched Jimmy trying to revive her. After awhile
I realized Dolores was injured. Frantically I bent over her. I rubbed her
hands. I called to her, “Dolores, Dolores.” Gently I patted her cheek. She
fluttered her eyelids. She gasped. She opened her eyes wide and stared in
fright.

I cried, “How are you? How
are you feeling, baby?”

I mopped the blood from her
lips. “I’m terribly sorry, Dolores.”

Gently I kissed her hand.
She pulled it away. She cried out, “You’re a brute; you’re a wicked man.”

I murmured, “It’s true. I am
terribly sorry. Please forgive me.”

We were parked on a deserted
uptown street. She moaned.

“Let me out. I’m sick. I
need some air,” she said.

We helped her out and walked
her up and down the street. She was like a weak, broken little girl.

Jimmy jumped away. I held
her tight. She retched all over my new blue suit. I didn’t mind. I held her
closer to me. I wiped her face. She was crying. Her make−up was spoiled. Her
mascara was running in black streaks down her soft cheeks.

Weakly she said, “Please
take me home.”

I helped her back into the
car. I told Jimmy to stop at a gas station.

I said, “Go into the ladies’
room and get washed.”

Obediently she went in. I
went into the gents’ room and cleaned up the best I could.

On the way back I tried to
talk her out of her silent dejection. I acted contrite and apologetic. But to
no avail. I couldn’t shake her out of it. She sat in her corner looking out the
window, morose and bitter. I didn’t know how to make amends. I had never felt
so wretched and miserable.

I asked, “When are you
leaving?”

She answered coldly, “It’s
no concern of yours.”

“What time should I tell
Jimmy to report with the limousine to drive you and Moe to the cemetery tomorrow?”

“We’ll take the subway. I
don’t want any favors from you.”

The rest of the trip back to
the theater, I felt ashamed. She didn’t say a word, not even goodbye as she got
out of the car.

I gave Jimmy the other half
of the C note. He said, “Thanks. You know you got a bum approach with the girls,
pal?”